


Mad World

by hd_wireless_mod



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, mentions of character deaths, this has not been Brit-picked, vague references to PTSD/depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 01:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hd_wireless_mod/pseuds/hd_wireless_mod
Summary: Nearly a year after the war, Draco finds himself adrift. Luckily, it’s a mad world.





	Mad World

**Author's Note:**

> tdcat, I wasn’t planning to do this fest until I saw your prompt. I wanted to challenge myself to write a fic that didn’t just sort of follow the lyrics (though I hope I’ve done that), but also had the same sort of dreamy, fill-in-the-blanks, looking-through-a-glass feel as the song. I am not sure if I managed that or if I just wrote a disjointed story (ha!) but I hope you enjoy it either way.  
> Thanks to my beta, JT. Thank you to the mods. xx

All around me are familiar faces

Worn out places, worn out faces

Bright and early for their daily races

Going nowhere, going nowhere

 

            Draco walked slowly down Diagon Alley, hands in his pockets. He hunched his shoulders beneath the fabric of his fine wool peacoat as he fought against the March breeze. His head was tipped slightly downward, but his eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings, keeping watch for a hex or curse aimed his way. It hadn’t been quite a year since the final battle, and he still had plenty of enemies from both sides about.

            Some of the buildings along either side of the alley were in the process of being rebuilt or restored. There wasn’t too much damage from wartime activities, but many places had closed up while Voldemort was in power and the empty businesses had fallen prey to vandals. Some places had obviously been abandoned, their broken windows and spellfiti-covered faces left untouched. They gave the familiar area a feeling of being worn and tired.

            Much like the people surrounding him, Draco mused. It was nearly eight in the morning, and while he was just leaving his night position in the Ministry archival office, most of his fellow witches and wizards were beginning their day, rushing off to their own jobs. They sported blood-shot and bagged eyes and glazed expressions and most of them were carrying large cups from the new coffee shop. Unlike him, they had somewhere important to be. Unlike him, they had people who wanted to see them.

            Draco decided that he could use a drink, too—but not the caffeinated sort.

 

Their tears are filling up their glasses

No expression, no expression

Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow

No tomorrow, no tomorrow

 

            The day Draco had been acquitted would always be a blur in his mind. He’d been so certain that he would be sentenced to the Kiss that he had no memory of the minutes between the stern pronouncement, “Cleared of all charges,” and being found on a bench outside the Ministry booth by Seamus Finnegan.

            He’d recalled how hot-tempered the Gryffindor had been at school, so when the falling shadow had prompted him to lift his head and blink slowly up at the sandy-haired man, he had presumed he was going to be cursed. Hell, he believed he deserved to be cursed. Instead, Seamus had glanced away awkwardly and said, “Reckon I know exactly how you feel right now. Harry had to go back to training, but I promised I’d look after you.”

            When Draco had merely blinked some more, Seamus had reached out and taken him by the elbow. “I know what you need,” he’d said, and disapparated them. He’d filled Draco full of free firewhiskey before tucking him into bed in one of the upstairs rooms of the Three Broomsticks, which he now owned.

            Draco had snuck out the next day, but had been dropping by the pub at least one day a week ever since. At first it was every day. Even with his freedom, the future had seemed bleak and frightening. Finally, Seamus had refused to serve him and told him that he wasn’t going to allow Draco to become a talent-wasting lush on his watch. He’d sent Draco to see Dean Thomas, who had a fairly high position in Ministry archives restoring old documents and other items.

            Draco had never run into another old classmate at the pub, which had always surprised him. It made it that much more unnerving to walk in on that bright Wednesday morning and find Hermione Granger hunched over a pint, head bowed and mumbling while Finnegan leaned on the bar and patted her hand consolingly.

            The only stool left was next to her, and while Draco could have taken a table, he felt safer near Seamus. More than once the Irishman had intervened when someone had tried to cause trouble over Draco’s presence, and he had already noted one or two malevolent stares from today’s patrons. Careful not to bump Granger, he slid onto the vacant spindle-backed seat. When Seamus looked up, Draco raised a brow, and the other man shrugged.

            “Love, I’ve got to pull Malfoy’s pint. I’ll be right back.”

            His words seemed to take several seconds to register with Hermione, and then she lifted her head and looked at Draco with wide, puffy eyes. He was tempted for a moment to look away and ignore her. Instead, he gave her the tiniest decline of his head, and after a beat she did the same.

            Seamus handed him his glass, but he was distracted by rustling as Hermione threw some coins down on the bar and jumped from her seat. She mumbled a farewell to Finnegan, yanked a cloak from the stand next to the door, and left.

            Draco mentally shrugged, told himself he wasn’t curious, and drank his ale.

OOO

            He broke his usual pattern and returned to the Three Broomsticks the next day. He’d quite reasonably explained to himself that he wasn’t _nosey_ , he was _thirsty_. But if Granger happened to be there again, perhaps he’d find out what made her cry when not one of his schoolyard taunts had prompted a tear from her younger self. You know, just to pass the time.

            Draco spotted the back of her curly, dark head almost immediately. There were more stools open today, but this time he deliberately chose the one next to her. She turned her head and her mouth dropped into an ‘o’ of surprise. She wasn’t crying, but she’d finished half her pint and still looked fairly miserable. He gave her yesterday’s nod, and she responded in kind. Seamus brought his drink and Draco turned his attention to the copy of the _Prophet_ someone had left on the bar.

            When he’d finished his paper and his pint, he stood and put on his coat and his scarf. From the corner of his eye, he caught her looking at him, her brow slightly furrowed. Feeling a little braver, he raised his hand in farewell before turning and walking swiftly out of the pub.

OOO

            It took a week for them to speak. Draco had returned every day, and Seamus was giving him that intervention look again. But he never drank more than one pint—usually didn’t finish it, in fact, before he chickened out and left. He always seemed to leave before her now.

            He was prepared for more of the same when he seated himself next to her on the following Tuesday, so when she turned fully toward him and said, “Are you not afraid of catching my muggle germs?” he was surprised enough that he nearly fell out of the chair.

            After what he feared were several seconds of inelegant gaping, he managed to school his features into a placid mask. “Not crying today?”

            She looked down, rubbed a scar on the bar top with her fingertips. “Today is a better day,” she said softly.

            They drank in silence, but she left before he did. When she passed by him, she caught his eye and gave Draco a tiny smile.

OOO

            “…and Ron is away until June, and he doesn’t write. Or if he does, it’s one line telling me that he’s writing because I sent an owl asking him to write. Harry just goes to work and goes home.”

            “At least you still have contact with them.” Draco leaned his elbows on the bar, gesturing for Finnegan to bring them another round on his tab. “Blaise won’t talk to me because his mother is trying to make a good match for him to replenish their funds and I’m bad for his image. Pansy high-tailed it to Marseilles last year and married a squib businessman three times her age. I never hear from her.”

            Granger raised a brow and took a delicate sip of her new pint. “Because she married a squib?”

            He gave her a cutting look. “Because all Pansy likes to do is gossip and shop, and I don’t have any good gossip or the galleons for the stores she likes these days. Bint.”

            Her lips twitched. “Still, I just don’t understand why Ron and Harry don’t want to do something _important_. There’s still so much _injustice_. I thought they’d want to be Aurors and make the world a better place. Instead, Ron took that position with the Cannons and Harry joined up for training but only lasted four months before he decided he was tired of fighting. Now he magicks television sets with Arthur, for Merlin’s sake.”

            “People are celebrating, Granger. Sure, they could be doing more. We all could be doing more, but people just want to relax a bit and enjoy peace before they start noticing how shite the world still is.” He took a long drink from his glass and studied her from under his lashes. He wondered if he should recommend that she talk to someone about all the sadness and anger she seemed to have. Maybe McGonagall? Hell, she _should_ be talking to Potter. They had always been each other’s sounding boards, hadn’t they?

            He wouldn’t mind talking to Potter. He saw him around the Ministry from time to time. Sometimes he opened his mouth to say hello, but nothing ever came out. He wondered what it would be like to be able to talk to Harry Potter.

 

And I find it kinda funny

I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I’m dying

Are the best I’ve ever had

I find it hard to tell you

I find it hard to take

When people run in circles

It’s a very, very mad world

Mad world

 

            Draco woke up suddenly, levering halfway off the mattress and shoving his palms beneath himself for balance. His breaths were sawing painfully in and out, and he could feel the clamminess of cold sweat covering his naked torso. It was one of the fire dreams again, but at least this time Potter had looked sorrowful as Draco’s hand had slipped and he’d fallen into the flames. Sometimes he grinned a sinister grin and purposely let Draco go. Those were the worst dreams.

            No—no, those weren’t the worst, he corrected himself, as he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and sat up fully. The worst were memories that assaulted him when he slept; memories of living with Voldemort in his home, watching his every move, reading his mind. Memories of the terror of sixth year, the fear he would lose his parents, the realization of how pointless it all was because he’d lost them, anyhow.

            Draco felt his lips curve slightly without humor. It was a disturbing commentary on his life that he preferred to dream about dying than to remember the past.

OOO

            The next day when Draco pushed into the pub, he was startled to find that Granger wasn’t alone. Instead of being seated at the bar, she was at a table with Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, and Finnegan was leaning against the nearest wall. They were all chatting, and Granger was actually smiling, and Draco wondered if he should intrude.

            Trying not to feel like an unwanted stray, he slunk past the table, headed for the bar.

            “Malfoy!” Granger called out, lifting a hand when he turned. “Come sit with us?”

            He eyed her warily, but Weasley was smiling at him and even Lovegood looked even more placid than usual, as if she was attempting to appear as non-threatening as possible. Draco took two steps closer.

            “I left the last chair for you, Malfoy,” Seamus said smoothly. He leaned down and kissed the top of Ginny’s head and then walked toward the bar, pausing next to Draco. “I’ll get your pint.” He lifted his brows in challenge.

            Draco nodded. “Thanks.” He swiftly walked to the empty chair and shed his outerwear, draping his things over the back before he sat.

            “We were just saying how mild the weather has been for April,” Luna offered into the slightly awkward silence.

            He nodded and cleared his throat. “Divination department said rain this weekend, though.”

            “Oh, that’s a shame,” Ginny moaned. “We were going to play pickup quidditch at the Burrow. I think George even convinced Harry to come.”

            Draco perked a bit and looked at Hermione. “Still reclusive, then?”

            She sighed. “I think it’s gotten worse. I dropped in on him on Tuesday and there were takeaway containers everywhere. He said he can’t be arsed to shop.”

            He frowned. “Should he, you know, talk to someone? It might help,” he finished a bit defensively when she simply stared at him. “I thought about suggesting that you talk to someone when we first started meeting up.”

            Hermione gave him an odd look. “I did talk to someone. That’s why I am starting to feel better.”

            Draco blinked in surprise. “Really? Who?”

            “You, idiot!”

            It took several seconds for him to realize that the women weren’t laughing _at_ him and to understand. He dipped his head as Seamus placed his pint on the table. “Well,” he mumbled, “I can’t exactly talk to Potter, can I?”

            Hermione took a draw of her Butterbeer and looked at him pensively. “Would you like to? Talk to Harry, I mean?”

            He shrugged. “I…I guess it would be nice to be able to ask him why he did it. You know, the fire and…everything.” He ignored the sharply indrawn breaths around him and looked up, catching Finnegan’s understanding gaze where the barkeep was once again leaning against the wall. “Maybe it’s just because…because that’s his thing, right? Saving people.” He swallowed. “Even…even the bad ones. The ones who don’t deserve it. Maybe that’s why he feels like there’s not much left for him? Because there’s nobody to save?”

            When none of them answered, he ventured a glance at Granger. He felt Luna reach out and pat his hand as the brunette said softly, “What I think is that you should talk to Harry.”

OOO

            Hermione had sent Draco an owl to warn him. He took a deep breath before entering the Three Broomsticks the next day and quickly glanced over the customers, spotting Potter sitting alone at a table for two. He shed his cloak and decided to use the stand by the door to buy himself a bit of time, though he did remove his wand from the inside pocket and carried it loosely in his hand as he approached.

            “Malfoy,” Harry Potter said quietly with a nod.

            “Potter.” Draco lowered himself into the empty chair, but sat on the edge—just in case.

            “Hermione said we should talk,” Potter said without preamble. “I though…I thought today might be a good day to do it. But if it’s too difficult…”

            It was May 2nd. “No. No, I think this is a good time,” he said, his voice breaking a bit at the end as Seamus set down their glasses.

            Potter nodded and lifted his glass. “A toast beforehand? To the fallen, to the future,” he murmured, holding out his glass.

            Draco tapped his glass against Potter’s and felt something shift.

 

Children waiting for the day they feel good

Happy birthday, happy birthday

And I feel the way that every child should

Sit and listen, sit and listen

 

            Three weeks later the raging wind propelled Draco through the pub doors, and he growled as it blew raindrops right up under his umbrella charm to splatter his hair and face.

            “There’s the rain we didn’t get in April,” Harry called jovially, and Hermione laughed as Draco snorted and removed his mack and overshoes and tossed them into the pile of wet things next to the door.

            “I don’t mind wet weather occasionally,” he said taking his place at the table that had become their usual spot, “but this is the eighth bloody day in a row. I’m casting charms in my flat so that I don’t forget what the sun looks like.”

            Hermione hummed in agreement and Harry smiled crookedly, making Draco’s heart flutter a bit. He coughed and turned his head when he realized that he was probably smiling dopily back.

            “Oh my, look at the time,” Hemione said in a horribly fake tone of surprise. “I must be pushing off, I promised to go ‘round to see Molly for a cooking lesson this afternoon.” She waved off their token protests and wrapped herself in her raincoat and a few spells in preparation for facing the downpour outside. Just before she slipped through the door, she turned back and winked at Harry.

            Draco raised a brow. “Alright. Care to tell me what that was about? Also, please tell me Granger has no pretentions of ever being on the stage.”

            Harry chuckled and scratched the back of his head, then shoved his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “I, er…was just wondering what you had planned for your birthday.”

            He felt himself starting to go pink, knowing that Granger had been meddling. He never should have Floo called to ask her if she thought Harry might accept an invitation to dinner. Now he couldn’t chicken out or everyone would know that he had. “I…That is, I was wondering if you might like to go out with me. To Chez Marcel. To eat.” Draco cringed. That was bloody idiotic. What else were they going to do at a restaurant, see a film?

            But Harry didn’t tease him, only smiled gently and nodded. “I’d like that.”

OOO

            Dinner had been quite perfect, even though it was still storming two days later on Draco’s birthday. Harry had been adorably embarrassed when the maître d’ has insisted on upgrading their table because he was with Draco. They’d had a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower, and he had teased Harry about saving him again—this time from the horrors of looking at a wall while he ate.

            They had found a surprising number of things to talk about that didn’t include the past, and two hours flew by as they laughed and stared shyly at each other during pregnant pauses. When they left the restaurant, Draco smiled broadly when Harry took hold of his hand as they walked along the pavement.

            They were strolling along under an expanded umbrella charm when a streak of bright, red light split the air, stopping just short of Draco’s nose. Instinctively he jumped back, looking around for the source. Harry stepped in front of him and surveyed the area, then scowled and wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist. “Take us to your flat.”

            They landed in the living room, and Draco moved away quickly, offering wine, though he was still shaking slightly. For one evening he had forgotten that he had to be constantly alert. He had let his guard down for one moment—they were in France, for fuck’s sake—and the result could have been much worse.

            “Is this—being with me—is it going to be a danger for you?” Harry asked when Draco handed him a glass full of merlot. “Should we stay out of the public eye for a while?”

            Draco released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, afraid Harry was going to suggest they not continue whatever they’d begun, and settled himself on the sofa next to his date. “No,” he said firmly. “No, I’m not going to hide. I’m tired of being a coward. And I’m not going to let you start hiding away again. If you don’t want to be an Auror, don’t be an Auror. If thinking about Fred makes you sad then be sad—but don’t skip quidditch with your friends because you’re sad. They’re sad, too. But they’re trying to feel better, and so should you. No, we are not hiding anymore.” He finished his impassioned speech, panting, and dared to turn his head and look at Harry, who was looking back at him with an amused little smile.

            “I knew you and Hermione talked about me, but I didn’t realize you were holding all of that in.”

            Draco shrugged awkwardly and allowed Harry to coax him back against his side and wrap his arm around him. “I will try to take your advice,” Harry said seriously. “As long as you do me a favor?”

            “What’s that?” Draco asked, letting his head fall onto Harry’s shoulder.

            “Keep a bit of it. Talking to you helped Hermione. It helped me. But who do you talk to?”

            Draco hummed, feeling safe surrounded by Harry and his tender attentions. Even with the close call, it had been a nicer birthday than he’d had in years, all things considered. He couldn’t remember feeling so content since he was a child. Harry began to stroke his hair and he sighed, letting go.

            “We didn’t celebrate my birthday that year. Everyone knew he was coming soon. Funny, it was raining the night that Pettigrew showed up at the Manor with…with him. Not a nice storm like this, though. One of those disgusting, grey drizzles…”

 

Went to school and I was very nervous

No one knew me, no one knew me

Hello teacher, tell me what’s my lesson

Look right through me, look right through me

 

            “Did you get your invitation yet?” Harry asked Draco before shoving a bite of spaghetti into his mouth and clearly struggling not to grimace.

            Draco politely swallowed and took a long sip of water before nodding. “I did. This is…certainly a meal, Granger.”

            “It sure is,” Ron piped up enthusiastically. “It’s…uh…nice and spicy.” Draco had been stunned when they had received in invitation to dinner after Weasley had returned from spring training, but Harry assured him that he had gotten all his yelling and suspicion out over a series of three Floo calls with Granger. They were polite, if distant, to each other, and nobody had drawn a wand yet.

            “The crunch,” Harry added helpfully. “It really gives it…something.”

            Hermione rolled her eyes and started vanishing their plates. “Oh, fine. I’m never going to be Wolfgang Puck. Call for curry already.”

            Harry rushed eagerly to the Floo to put in their takeaway order while Weasley leaned toward Draco. “Who’s Wolf Fang Buck?” he whispered. Draco shrugged, just as perplexed.

            “You’re coming, right?” Harry asked Draco, returning to the kitchen.

            Draco looked up at him and took a deep breath. He’d been dreading this conversation. “I _want_ to…You know I want to Harry, it’s your birthday.”

            Harry frowned. “But?”

            “What if everyone is angry that I’m there? What if something like Paris happens?”

            Harry slid back into his seat and reached out to clutch Draco’s hand. “Hermione and Ron will be there. And Seamus and Dean and Ginny and Luna. None of us will let anything happen to you.”

            Draco chewed his lower lip. He had told Harry he was tired of being a coward, and it was true. So it looked like he was going back to Hogwarts for Harry’s birthday party. He looked up into their encouraging faces—even Weasley was looking at him only with curiosity—and almost felt brave.

OOO

            “Happy birthday, Harry!” the Patil twins said in unison, leaning in to give Harry a simultaneous hug. Draco stood to the side and smirked. After the twins was Susan Bones, Ernie McMillian, and then, surprisingly, the little Greengrass girl. None of them seemed to recognize Draco at all. They either didn’t notice him or looked right through him with a polite smile. He was feeling better about coming with each passing moment, and it helped that Harry never let go of his hand.

            “Harry, happy returns!” came a deep, exuberant voice, and Draco’s boyfriend was swallowed up in the embrace of a tall, fit man. Draco was shocked when the man turned and he realized it was Neville Longbottom. “Malfoy…” he said uncertainly.

            Draco steeled himself. Whatever Longbottom had to say to him, it was probably deserved. He nodded politely.

            “You’re looking fit,” Neville finished. His eyes fell to Draco and Harry’s clasped hands before darting between their faces again. “The two of you should come for tea one day. I’ll show you what we’ve done with the grounds,” he offered a bit tentatively.

            “Thank you,” Draco said promptly, grabbing the olive branch. “We will.”

            Harry’s grin was definitely worth every bit of breaking he’d had to do to get to this moment.

OOO

            Draco’s steps were muffled by the new plush carpet in the Headmasters’ gallery that McGonagall had installed on the fifth floor. Each portrait now had a place of honor with its own little brass plaque identifying its occupant so that every Headmaster could be admired by visitors to the castle. Also so that they couldn’t spy on the Headmistress in her office, Draco suspected.

            “Ah, Mister Malfoy,” a familiar voice said melodically, and Draco found himself looking up at the likeness of Professor Dumbledore. “Visiting for the festivities?”

            Draco found himself nodding. “Potter and I…are…we’re friends now.”

            Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, and Draco suspected he knew the truth. “My, you two have come a long way, then. I suspect you’ve learned your lesson, in that case.”

            “Not to be a right bastard?” Draco asked with a grin. “Yeah, got it.”

            The former Headmaster tsked. “The importance of _forgiveness_ , Mister Malfoy. Not only from others…but from ourselves.”

            Dumbledore’s expression was so kind that Draco had to blink suspicious moisture from his eyes. When he could see clearly again, the man was gone, likely to a frame in the Great Hall to join the party.

            “What a lot of rot,” came a sharp, sour voice from further down the corridor, and Draco grinned even as his heart panged. He rushed along until he reached the frame he sought. “Sev!”

            Severus Snape sniffed. “No need to pretend to be pleased to see me.”

            Draco shook his head, his grin not wavering. “Shut up you bastard, you know I’m happy to see you. I’d have come sooner if I hadn’t been…well, such a bloody weakling.”

            Snape gave him a tight little smile. “Then perhaps you _have_ learned your true lesson. Not that rubbish about forgiveness and rainbows and butterflies, but _humility_. I always thought you could do with a good dose of humility, Draco—to be knocked down a peg or two.”

            “Yes, well,” Draco said wryly, “you certainly got your way, didn’t you?”

            They chatted for a few moments before another set of footsteps came rushing down the hallway. “Mister Malfoy! Mister Malfoy, oh, there you are!” McGonagall’s hurried gait came to an abrupt halt as she reached him. “Oh, hello Severus. Mister Malfoy, I do believe Mister Potter is looking for you.”

            “Really?” Draco asked, surprised. When he had left Harry, he’d been surrounded by friends and having a grand time.

            McGonagall smiled gently. “Of course. You’ve grown into a fine man, Draco. It is obvious to everyone here that you care deeply for Harry. Perhaps you should learn to allow him to care for you in return.”

            They both ignored Professor Snape’s choking sounds as they left the portrait gallery to return to the Great Hall, and to whatever was ahead.

 

And I find it kinda funny

I find it kinda sad

The dreams in which I’m dying

Are the best I’ve ever had

I find it hard to tell you

I find it hard to take

When people run in circles

It’s a very, very mad world

Mad world

 

            “That’s the last one mate,” Ron said, carefully lowering the levitated moving box to the floor. The new flat was filled with similar boxes, a mix of Harry’s items and Draco’s.

            Hermione ran a wrist across her sweaty brow and then wiped it on the kerchief that held back her hair. It was a testament to her exertion, given that they were a week from Christmas. “I don’t envy the two of you. It’s going to take you ages to unpack all of this and get everything sorted.” Ginny, Luna, Seamus, Dean, and Neville all nodded or made agreeing noises.

            “True,” Harry laughed, plopping down onto the sofa next to Draco, who was drinking from a bottle of cold water. “But we’ve unpacked the bed—that’s the most important thing.”

            Draco laughed as everyone else groaned, and a toss pillow hit him square in the back of the head as he leaned over for a kiss.

OOO

            Draco no longer dreamt of fire, or of cabinets, or of laughing, noseless faces. Now when he fell asleep, secure in Harry’s arms, he dreamed of their future. Of diamonds and prams and vacation cottages in Plymouth. Hey, he could dream as large as he liked. It was a mad world.


End file.
